KIRKUS REVIEW

A steampunk thriller uses Victorian
science as a framework for cinematic monster goofiness in 1838 London.

It's been six months since 15-year-old
Julius Caesar Higgins' last time-travel adventure (Julius and the Watchmaker, 2014), but it seems he has to save the
world yet again. Together with his guttersnipe BFF, Emily, Julius has to defeat
a passel of villains perfect for animation: tiny, odd-faced Mr. Tock; a pair of
comical-but-dangerous thugs, one short and solid, the other tall and "thin
as a workhouse dog" with a face "like a stalactite"; Abigail,
the murderous automaton made of forks and knives and pocket watches, like a 10-foot
praying mantis crossed with a spider; and countless ambulatory, zombifying,
soul-catching orchids that pull themselves from their pots and chase their
victims. In a twist, they travel through time and temporarily look like
“native” children in a village in Brazil, “gone all brown.” (The characters
otherwise all appear to be white; Emily speaks in exaggerated, spelled-out
lower-class English: "Frough wot?"; "I wasn't planning on nicking
naffing.") There they visit Charles Darwin, who in history at this point
was visiting local botanical gardens and documenting insects but who here is
ineffectually rescuing nonverbal native children from the soul-catchers, which
leave their hosts planted husks, like some sort of Anne Geddes or Giuseppe
Arcimboldo portrait gone horrifically wrong. Julius’ self-talk, printed in
italics, peppers the text: “Concentrate,
Higgins.”

The book closes with drama enough
for a sequel; action-happy readers will be hoping for it. (Steampunk. 11-13)

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